who needs clean house?!?

A good deal of my funkiness may be attributed to the fact that my house is a hot mess.

Fellow fans of my favorite show, the Style Network's Clean House, will recognize that as one of host Niecy Nash's oft-used adjectives. That describes the vibe around this place quite well -- that and another of her terms -- a whole lotta foolishness.

Most of the mess is fresh -- a result of the redecorating that has been going on here the last several months. We have painted our living room, hall, and all three bedrooms, had the hardwood floors refinished and just have newly-installed (this morning!) carpeting in our bedroom. Sounds great, huh? It will be great, when it is finished, but unlike those lucky families on Clean House, I do not have a team of professionals working for me.

I do have several handsome go-to guys, most notably The Big Man and our eldest son, AJ. But they do have lives to lead outside of providing for all my decorating needs (can you imagine?) so this is taking some time.

One of the biggest messes is a result of my clothes. They are literally all over the house, in piles. Getting dressed is a nightmare. I know that the end is in sight, as my beautiful new wardrobe will be up soon. But in the meantime I have to burrow like a hamster to find my pajamas. It's pretty ugly.

The truth, of course, is that my house has always been less than tidy. I used to say I was neat; now I tell it like it is. I am not neat. I am so busy trying to do so many things that I am a pig. I have piles of papers on my desk, socks without mates on my dryer, tupperware and lids and tippy cups up the wazoo, and, horrors, even my email inbox is full (62 unread messages,994 messages total.)

My purse is a jumble of receipts, paint samples, and candy wrappers. (They're the kids', I swear.) Every single aspect of my life is messy.

No wonder I feel funky.

I want, so badly, to have a peaceful, uncluttered home. I crave simplicity and order. But I also love things, and clothes, and books, and people. And there are a lot of all those around here.

I have a small home, too. 1300 or so square feet to contain all this foolishness. No basement, a tiny laundry room, three small bedrooms, four large boys. My family room is the ultimate all-purpose room: there we watch TV, surf the internet, do school work and host parties. (We also wrestle, fold laundry, and sometimes eat at the dining table that's housed there.) Madness.

I keep trying to "Get Organized", which is not easy to get. I have no problem with other "gets" -- get ready for the party, get to work, get pregnant. But the organization thing? Not so much.

Just another one of those fun quirks keepin' me real. I do realize that I accomplish an awful lot in this crazy state, but I'm wistful for the cool life I could have if I were less messy, more "with it."

I'd be dangerous.

But for now I'm creative, busy, surrounded with things and people I like. It's a hot mess, it's true. But it's mine, and it's real, and it's pretty darn fun around here.

I'm shakin' off that funk, toot de suite.

Now if I can just find my pajamas...